


Draco the Storyteller

by Elfflame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fairy Tales, M/M, NaNoWriMo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5939233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfflame/pseuds/Elfflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the War, Draco passes his time waiting for his trial by telling Harry Potter fairy tales.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Prisoner's Plan part 1: I Am Pandora

**Author's Note:**

> My NaNoWriMo project from 2011, another set of fairy tales with Harry and Draco at the center. Some of these are more pre-slash than slash, but they're all Harry/Draco in the end. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> My editing process is slow these days, but I will try to get the chapters up as soon as I am able. Thank you for your patience.

After the war, everything happened so fast. All Draco could remember was that one moment, he was hugging his parents and being held by them, and the next, all three of them were being bound by those around them in the hall. He hadn't expected anything better, really, given their part in the battle, but it didn't make it any easier.

Then Potter had stopped the others. "No. Mrs Malfoy helped me. And I doubt she was doing more than standing here with her family."

"Regardless, Harry, she will need to be processed. If she had stayed home…" The new Minister, Shacklebolt, didn't seem to be pleased, but it didn't make it any easier to hear.

Draco wanted to rail at the man, but Potter had done it for him. "Kingsley, you can't—" He sighed. "What if it were your family? Would you have stayed home? Can you blame her?"

"I'm sorry, Harry. But we can't give her or them special treatment. But you can stand up for her when she stands before the court. Okay?"

It wasn't okay, but it would have to do.

So he found himself separated from his parents, locked in the cells at the Ministry along with far too many other witches and wizards who'd found themselves on the wrong end of the war. 

Waiting.

For what felt like forever. Sure, he had a place to sleep, food three times a day, and a guard to watch him. At least, one who came by a few times a day to make sure he was still alive (or at least, Draco suspected he was checking he was, since nothing he said made a bloody difference in getting the man to respond with anything other than the same words every day).

Then something changed. A new group of guards came to watch the cells. And one of them was Potter.

The first time he'd seen him, Draco was shocked. "What are you doing down here, Potter? Shouldn't you still be celebrating your victory?"

"For your information, Malfoy, I happen to be trying out as an Auror. Not that it's any of your business. But I figured if I helped with the trials, it would at least show I can do things other than destroy madmen."

It was definitely a change from the usual. "So… you're going to be here a lot then?"

"I'll be sharing guard duty with a few others, and doing prisoner transfers to the courtrooms. When I'm not busy with other duties."

It was sobering. For a moment, seeing Potter almost helped Draco forget why he was there. "Right." He settled back in his bunk, looking at him for a moment. "How are they going?" he asked. 

"I couldn't tell you, Malfoy. I'm not allowed. Not to a prisoner."

Draco scowled. "Not even about father? Please… I just want to know he's all right. And mother. I know you stood up for her before. Do you know…?"

Potter shook his head. "I can't, Malfoy. Not until your trial's done. You're supposed to be kept separate from the trials. They don't want you using someone else's defense to get free."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Please, you know that's not why."

"I do. But I can't. I'm sorry." And then Potter hurried down the corridor to the next cell before Draco could try anything more.

By the time Potter returned for his next guard duty, Draco was ready for him. He only hoped his plan would work. When Potter glanced in, Draco was quick to move to the bars. 

"Potter."

"I told you, Malfoy. I can't tell you anything."

"Please. You can tell me some things. Just little things. And I'd be willing to offer something in return for each piece of information. I'd even be willing to sign a wizarding contract not to use anything you tell me in my trial, if it will make you feel more comfortable."

"You would?"

Draco nodded. "I just want to know they're okay."

Potter thought about it for a moment. "What are you offering in return? Or was the contract it?"

Draco shook his head. "Stories. Surely this can't be the most exciting job of all time. I can offer a way to make the time go faster. For every day you come visit. What do you think?" He knew it wasn't really much, which was why he'd offered the contract first. It was the more important bit anyway.

Potter frowned. "Stories?"

"No worse than sitting and reading a book."

"What kind of stories?"

"Up to you. What do you like?"

"I don't know." He frowned, then stepped back. "I need to finish my rounds. I'll let you know later, okay?"

Draco nodded, unhappy he wasn't able to get more from him. But pushing wouldn't make him more likely to agree, so what else could he do?

So Draco watched him walk away and waited. Again.

It wasn't until Potter brought his tray for supper he got his answer. "I agree to your terms. But I can't stay too long. So for every story, you get one question. Okay? And I promise to answer them as truthfully as I can. If I can't…"

"That won't be fair," Draco said with a scowl. 

"I was going to say if I can't, then you get to ask another question. All right?"

Draco calmed, then nodded. "Fine." He took the tray from Potter, then settled on the bench with it next to him and picked up the sandwich. It wasn't high cuisine, but it was better than he'd expected it to be. "So when?"

"How about now?"

Draco blinked up at him, not having expected that. "Now?"

"I have to take your tray after anyway. This way I have an excuse to linger," Potter said 

"Right." The problem was, now he had the chance, he didn't know what to tell Potter. "Um… did you want to hear anything in particular?"

Potter shook his head. "Whatever you're up to."

"Right…" Draco said again. He searched his brain for something, anything to tell Potter. Then the perfect idea came to mind.

**_I Am Pandora_ **

Have you heard the legend of Pandora? The one about the girl who opens the box and lets all the evil out into the world? That's me. I'm her. I'm Pandora. I'm the one who let the evil into Hogwarts. The evil which caused Dumbledore's death.

Some would say I'm taking a bit too much responsibility for the darkness we've so recently been through, but I don't. I know what I've done. I deserve worse than I am getting. Not that anyone else thinks so.

Oh, to be sure, they think I've more than earned a trip to Azkaban, but they see me only as a minor irritant. A boy from a pure-blood family, twisted to his family's needs.

They don't know. Can't understand I'm far more responsible than they could possibly give me credit for. 

Who am I? Oh, well, I'm sure most have heard my name. Or at least my father's. Draco Malfoy. Yes, that Malfoy. The one who let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. The one who caused Dumbledore's death. The one who foolishly took the Mark shortly after his sixteenth birthday because it was the only way he could think of to free his father. Never mind father deserved to be there. 

But let me start at the beginning.

Two things fascinated me from a very young age: Harry Potter and the Dark Lord. From the time I could understand, father told me of them both. Of how our Lord tried to kill Harry Potter, a boy my own age, and failed. But some day, we would rise to greatness again, with the Dark Lord leading us.

I never knew anything different. Our world was filled with people like us: purebloods, moreover, purebloods who supported the Dark Lord, whether openly or in secret, though more in secret than not. Many, like father, claimed they were merely spelled to obey, but we, their children, were told differently. We were all merely biding our time until the Dark Lord could rise once more.

But there was another I hoped to meet. Harry Potter. Unlike my friends, I held a fascination for him rivaling my need to be a Death Eater. I was convinced, if I could have but a chance, I could bring him to our way of seeing the world. He would join us and the Dark Lord, and together we would all make the world a better place.

Understand, I had no concept of what my father truly meant. Yes, I believed Muggles and Muggleborn were a blight, it was their fault we needed to be so careful and sparing with our magic. But I had no concept of why, or what might happen to those people we deemed Muggle or Muggleborn. It was an abstract concept at best.

Then came Hogwarts, and with it, the realization of Harry Potter, and of what Muggles and Muggleborn were truly like. Somewhere, in the back of my head, I could see Muggles and Muggleborn were different, but my annoyance at Harry Potter and his friends, particularly the know-it-all witch who seemed to want us all to think her better than all of us, kept me from acknowledging what I could see plainly for myself.

And when the time came for me to choose, my path was only too clear. No one would help my father. So I had to help him myself. Show my true quality. I had knowledge even the Dark Lord did not, and through it, I would free my father, and we would rise to greatness once more.

Mother and Severus tried to argue me against it, but I was long set on my path by then, and nothing they could have said would have changed my mind.

It wasn't until I'd faced the Dark Lord himself I understood. There was nothing but hate in his snake-like eyes. Not for me, not for my father, not for our plight… We were all just tools to him. And we would all die at his whim.

My suggestion was accepted gleefully. After all, he only ever managed to get one spy into Hogwarts. This would give him as much access as he wished, any time he wished. But it was not enough for him, even despite being a great advantage. No, he had another task for me. One that chilled me to the core—Kill Dumbledore.

He stated it as though he had given me a boon. As though I should bow and scrape and thank him for this favour of favours. But I knew it even then for what it was—a death sentence. Even should I succeed—and how could I, a mere student, ever manage to kill the greatest wizard who ever lived?—there was no way I would make it out of the castle alive. The castle itself would rise up against me, surely?

But there was no choice. If I failed, not only would father not be freed, but mother would be at risk as well. He would destroy us all, merely to show he could.

So I did what I was told, and Hogwarts fell. And Dumbledore died, though not at my hand.

The Wizarding World seemed truly lost, and each day after grew darker, with new and more horrific acts being played in front of my eyes. And all I could think was it was my fault. I caused this. I was the one to blame.

But there's another part to the story. Do you know that bit? About what else was in Pandora's box? Ah, well, that happened, too. And because of it, because I finally understood, everything changed again.

You see, I never thought I would have a chance to fix things. Then Potter and his friends showed up in our Manor. It was him. How could I not know? I'd seen him after so many Quidditch matches and scrapes. I knew what he looked like as well as my own face.

But I was also certain by then we would never win. I don't mean I thought the Dark Lord would never win, but that the Malfoy family would never survive, regardless. At least under the old Ministry, we might have had a chance, but under Voldemort's regime? We would never survive. Not for long, anyway.

So when father asked, I did the only thing I could do. I set my hope in Potter, just like the rest of the Wizarding World. If I'd been given a chance, I might have done more. But then aunt Bella saw the sword they carried, and everything else was swept aside.

And Potter ended up with my wand. Not an outcome I'd have predicted, and definitely not something I was pleased about. But perhaps it all worked out for the best.

For our Hope saved us, just like everyone knew he would. Potter defeated Voldemort, and it was because of me he could. For in taking my wand, in defeating me, he became the master of the Elder Wand. Not that I'd known at the time, of course, but still a far better outcome than Voldemort winning and destroying the Wizarding World.

So you see, though I let all the evil into the world, I also let hope escape, and because of that, he was able to destroy Voldemort, and so evil faded once more.

But the moral isn't Hope can destroy evil. Quite often, the two exist side by side, one never touching the other. No, the true moral is so long as Hope exists, evil will never win.

Just remember that. 

_Fin_

Once Draco finished his story, short as it was, both of them were silent for a time.

Finally, Harry spoke. "Is that really what you believe, Malfoy? It's your fault?"

"It was my idea, Potter. Knowledge I used against the school. For _him_. It was my fault Dumbledore died. Even if I didn't kill him myself."

"Life isn't like that, Malfoy. Maybe you knew things you shouldn't, and did the wrong things, but you couldn't have stopped him, either. I know that better than anyone. And well… Dumbledore was already dying. It's why he asked Snape to step in for you when it came down to it."

Draco blinked. "He did? When?"

"After they found out what you were up to."

Draco pushed the last of his food away, no longer hungry. "So… Snape really was a spy, then?"

Potter nodded. "I'm sorry if it upsets you."

If he thought about it, he supposed he should be, but he wasn't. "It's not that. I just… I wish… he'd been able to trust me. Save me. From myself."

"From your father's ideas, you mean. And we both know how impossible that would have been."

Draco nodded, then sighed. "So… do I still get a question?"

"Of course, Malfoy. I promised."

"Then do you know… is mother still here?"

Potter glanced down the corridor, then moved closer. "They released her," he said softly. "She helped me and, well… because she did, this is all over. It was enough to get her a commuted sentence for her part in the rest."

Draco hurried to the bars. "And father?"

"That's two questions, Malfoy. And I won't be able to tell you even if it weren't. You know that."

Draco sighed. "Fine. Right." He was silent for a moment, then moved to pick up the tray and hand it to Potter. "Here. And Potter?"

Harry took the tray, then looked up to meet his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Thanks."


	2. The Next Visit - A Gilded Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco tells the story of a prisoner left all alone.

**The Next Visit**

Draco was more prepared the next time Potter came to bring him supper. He'd been thinking more about what he could tell him, and what he could ask. Sometimes, though, he wished he could write it all down. It would make telling the stories easier.

He'd pulled the bench closer to the bars, so he could see Potter's face better while he talked. He wanted to be able to change the story if he needed to.

"So do you have a story for me today?" Potter asked as he passed the tray through.

Draco nodded. "Yes. I think so. Might be a few days in the telling, though, depending on how long you can stay."

"Oh? Even if you only get one question?"

Draco'd debated that question with himself after realizing Potter might ask something along those lines, he'd already decided on an answer. "I'll leave it up to you. If you decide this or one of my other stories is worth more… I'll take them. If not, so long as I get my question, I'll keep telling them."

"All right." Potter smiled, and leant back against the wall to watch him.

"This one's more of an actual story," Draco told him. "It starts after the war…"

**_A Gilded Cage_**

So it came to pass, the war of Voldemort ended. Harry Potter was victorious, as he was always meant to be, the Wizarding World was safe, and those who served the Dark Lord were rounded up for trial. At least, those who remained.

The children of Voldemort's Death Eaters, Marked or not, were also dealt with. Each gaining a guardian who would ensure their good behaviour. Should they prove upon their majority, or after five years, whichever was the longer time, they could be trusted in Wizarding society, then they would be released.

So it was Draco Malfoy found himself in a new home, surrounded by beautiful things, but always alone save for the lone house-elf who came to visit him every day.

At first it was almost like freedom, because it wasn't Azkaban. He could do as he wished. Read at all hours. Sleep late into the day. Wear what he wished. Still, Draco found himself hating his prison. He couldn't leave, there was no one to talk with but an elf, and he knew it would be years before he would be free. How, he asked himself, was this any better than Azkaban, where his father now resided?

True, it was well-furnished, with everything he could possibly need to eat or sleep or take a shower. There was even a wardrobe filled with clothes to wear. There were books to read, and other entertainments to keep him preoccupied, at least those that didn't require magic. Magic itself was forbidden, and Draco hated it. It was as though he'd had one arm tied behind his back. How could he accomplish anything for five years without a lick of magic?

There was no one to complain to. The elf refused to answer questions. It merely brought him food and cleaned the house before vanishing off to wherever it went at night. Soon Draco began to think the house-elf would be better than nothing.

Complaining got him nowhere. The elf did what it was there to do and left.

Draco was growing very bored.

Finally, out of desperation, Draco tried to leave the house. But upon touching the front door, the world flared around him, and he knew no more. He found himself waking in his own bed with a dark shape hovering over him. He couldn't decipher any recognizable features, but this must be who was taking care of him, surely?

"Dumb move," his caretaker said. "That could have been much worse, you know. I wouldn't advise you to try it again."

Draco shifted to see him better, and to speak, but it felt like he was moving through treacle. "Wha…?"

"Don't move. You hurt your arm. It required some healing, but it will be better by the morning. Just don't touch the front door again. Or the back door. Or the windows. I don't want to have to heal you again, Draco."

"Couldn't… put… imperturbable… on?"

"Doesn't work like that, Draco. Now. Are you going to be good?"

Draco glowered at him, still straining to discern who he was. "Who?"

"It doesn't matter." He stood, and Draco reached out to catch his hand.

"Wait… please… bored. Need… something to do. Someone to talk to."

His captor looked down at him. "You can't have visitors, Draco. You know that."

"Please… there has to be someone. Anyone! I'm going mad."

After a moment, the man nodded. "I'll see what I can manage." He turned to leave, and Draco felt more alone than before. 

"Please… can't you stay, at least?"

The man halted in the doorway, then turned back to him. "Trust me. You wouldn't want that." Before Draco could say otherwise, the man apparated away.

The next few weeks went much like the first few, but with two exceptions. 

The first came in the form of his aunt Andromeda, who Draco had never seen but from afar, or in the few pictures his mother owned of her from when they were young.

He wasn't sure what to expect at first, but she was nothing like what he'd always been led to believe. She was highly intelligent, witty, and even sly when it came right down to it. Though Draco wanted to hate her, he found himself strongly reminded of his mother.

All in all, it was nice to have someone to talk to. Even if it wasn't someone he'd spent much time with before.

The other change was the addition of "assignments" for the day, conveyed by the house-elf. Sometimes they were simple tasks—sorting through the books in the library, and boxing up a certain number to donate. Other tasks were more complex, like figuring out the missing line to a potion where it was worn or cut away in the book it was in.

It helped. He was able to keep his mind busy, and focus on something other than how bored he was.

Now he'd met his host, he couldn't help thinking of him, either, and wondering who he might be.

_Draco's Host_

Of course, the house-elf still refused to answer questions, so Draco needed to figure this out another way.

Not that Draco had much to go on. Just this house, which was fairly generic, the shadowy figure he'd met when he'd tried the front door, and the fact they'd probably been on the side of Harry Potter, since they'd been given the chance to watch over him.

Moreover, someone who could convince his aunt he might be worth saving. That was a job all on its own. Unless they knew her well. She was much too much like his mother--Black pigheadedness which wouldn't let them believe anything other than what they already believed.

So who did she know who would be able to convince her? The Minister, perhaps? And at least some of the Order. No, that was already too many people. He took out a sheet of parchment and listed off names of those who fit. Who was left from the Order? He could at least cross of the girls. His visitor was definitely a man. It didn't decrease the list much, though.

Draco thought of the new tasks he had been given. The organizing projects here at the house meant nothing, but the potions… The person appeared to know his connection to Snape. Also his visitor had looked to be about his age. If he crossed off all the rest, that would reduce his list quite a bit. If he crossed off the Weasleys—they'd never have been able to afford a place like this—that left only one person. Harry Potter.

Surely that couldn't be right? Draco started again. And ended up with the same answer. He wrote it out once more, but still there it was, in black and white. Harry Potter.

He decided to test out the theory. The next task the house-elf brought him, he left a note in the book addressed to Potter. There was no response. Which meant one of three things: they hadn't seen the note, which seemed unlikely, or he was wrong, and the person assumed it was a joke, or maybe, he was right, and Potter was refusing to admit it.

Draco wasn't one to settle after one attempt at finding out something he wanted to know, and he wasn't about to start doing so now. He wrote a second letter, this one a trap intended to learn if his host was actually reading the notes. He doubted the man would let him see his face if he did come, but at least he'd know he could get to him if he wanted. 

So this note stated that if he wasn't let out for a day, he would commit suicide. He gave them a week to allow it, and then… well, the note made it quite plain Draco would do something drastic.

It worked. 

The night Draco set as his deadline, he set out a potion next to his bed before dropping off to sleep. It was only a headache potion, but if taken in high enough quantity, it could cause death. He woke to a footstep outside his door, but feigned unconsciousness, waiting to see if his host would come in, or stay outside. He heard a whispered spell, and saw the room grow faintly brighter as his host entered.

Of course, the moment he saw the potion, he shook Draco awake. 

"Ugh, god, Potter… haven't you heard of the Enervate spell? Works far better than shaking, and if someone is injured, it has far less chance of causing further injury."

The man holding him was silent for a moment, then slapped Draco. "You're a fucking idiot, you know that?" He stood, and Draco tried to catch his arm, but the man pulled away before he could. "Next time, I'll let you die, bloody snake. If this is what helping you gets me…"

"Please," Draco said, earnest now. Potter or not, he was sick of being alone. And if it was Potter… "Please stay and talk to me?"

"I can't," he said. "I told them I'd only be a minute. Look, don't do this again, and I'll see what I can do to arrange another visit with your aunt."

"Who hates me for being here when her daughter isn't! Please!" It wasn't strictly true. Their visit was tense at first, but after some tea, they'd been able to at least focus on what they had in common—Draco's mother. Still, it wasn't the same as talking to someone who actually _knew_ him. "Please… you don't have to remove the spell, if that's what you're worried about. Just… stay and talk. For a bit."

His host debated with himself for what felt longer than a Quidditch match, then nodded once and sat down in the chair next to Draco's bed. "Five minutes. After that, I should go. All right?"

Draco was shocked. He'd expected to have to fight harder. "Really?"

"I said so, didn't I? So long as you don't attempt to figure out who I am. I won't tell you, so don't ask."

Draco wasn't about to say he'd already guessed, so instead he nodded. "Of course. Can I ask why you won't stay here with me? Or are we all being kept this way?" After all, maybe this was part of the punishment.

"I thought it would be simplest in the long run. You'd be comfortable, and without any preconceived notions of how I might treat you."

Draco supposed it was true. "I guess that makes sense. It seems silly not knowing for sure who you are." 

His host stood, and Draco shook his head. "No, wait. I didn't mean…"

"It sure sounded like you did."

"I wasn't. I swear. I just meant it's strange. Living here in your house… or rather a house you pay for, but without having you here with me. Like you're a ghost, almost. Couldn't you at least come visit now and again?"

After a few minutes, the man nodded. "All right. I ask you respect my privacy while I'm here. I have my reasons. Let's leave it at that." 

Draco nodded, a surge of hope filling him. "I swear. I won't ever try to find out."

_Of Passing Time_

True to his word, Draco's host visited, usually during meals once or twice a week. Compared to what Draco'd become accustomed to, it was wonderful. Of course, he still suspected Potter was behind the shadow which hid him from Draco's eyes. He never called him by name again, though.

They fell into a pattern. His host would generally join him Tuesdays and Thursdays, and after a short while, he began joining him on Sundays as well. They kept their talk on the news of the day or the latest potion Draco was working on. It was comfortable.

Soon, though, that wasn't enough, either. Despite being unable to see his host's face, Draco realized he was growing more and more attached to him. Twice he drew close to asking his name again, the other man disappeared and left Draco alone for a full week after. He hadn't done it a third time.

Now he had a new reason to know, though. He didn't want this to end after five years were up. He wanted to know for sure who he was spending his evenings with. And he wanted more.

He lay in bed at night and imagined _his_ face. Was it truly Potter? If not, who was it? Were they handsome? He imagined they were. Of course, any attempt to imagine his benefactor, the hair turned black, the eyes green, the face kind. 

And sometimes, just sometimes, mind you, he imagined a great deal more. Only under the covers, late at night, when he was sure his mystery benefactor wouldn't suddenly show up unannounced. Which he rarely ever did outside of meals. 

The thing was, the longer this went on, the more Draco wanted to know. It grew harder and harder for him to keep from asking. If only he were able to use his magic. 

One day, to distract himself, Draco was cleaning out his papers from his desk, and came across the lists he'd made in an attempt to guess his host's name. There at the bottom, was "Harry Potter," circled in overwritten dark ink. It was amazing how certain he remembered feeling. Surely Harry wouldn't have gone to this much trouble to keep his identity secret, would he?

He set the parchment aside and went on with his cleaning. It was completely forgotten when his benefactor appeared for supper that evening. He hadn't been expecting him, but it was a pleasant surprise, and Draco found himself trying harder than ever before. Potter or not, he wanted to know this person. He wanted them to like him as much as he was coming to like them.

As the evening drew on, talk turned to politics of the day. A far safer topic now than it might have been before the war. There were new departments in the Ministry, and Draco and his host found themselves debating the merits of each. Spiritedly. And quite enjoying the debate.

So much so his benefactor stayed longer than usual. Draco sent him into the living room to mix them drinks so they could continue their debate while he cleaned up in the kitchen. 

It was the biggest mistake he'd made since the day he'd attempted to leave this place.

When he arrived in the living room, it was to see him with the list. It took him only a moment before he realized what it was. "That's not…"

"Something you wanted me to see?" His benefactor's voice was flat. "You promised you'd let it go."

"I have! Please, I made that…"

"I don't care why, Draco. You broke your promise. Here I was, stupidly beginning to believe I could trust you." He crumpled up the parchment, tossed it in the fireplace and set it ablaze. With a turn, he was gone. Draco was left alone once more.

The next few weeks were miserable. The house-elf continued to bring food, but there were no more visits, no more assignments. No more word from his benefactor. He was alone. Far more so than before. And he knew it was his own fault.

He tried to send messages through the house-elf, but it refused to take them, and any he snuck into the things he knew the house-elf would take with it found their way mysteriously to his desk once more.

Nothing worked.

Draco didn't know what to do.

Every possible solution felt more hopeless than the last. Now he knew nothing would convince him to return.

_Under the Mask_

Afterwards, time dragged. The books were no distraction, and there seemed to be no solace. It grew hard to function, and it took Draco longer and longer to get himself out of bed. Eventually, he didn't bother, except for the occasional trip to the bathroom, or when he could no longer stand the hunger. Otherwise, he stayed curled up there, unmoving when he heard the house-elf calling his name, begging him to get out of bed to come and eat. Why should he? What did it really matter?

Sleep was the only comfort, now, for in dreams, he was still there. In dreams, their conversations took on new meaning. And together, they built something more together. 

Draco dreamed of kisses. Of being released. Of long walks in the park where they finally and truly came to know one another. Where his benefactor finally realized Draco wanted nothing more than to be with him, to love him. Eventually, he admitted he loved Draco back.

What did reality have compared to that? 

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, refusing to get up, when he found himself slapped awake.

"Spoiled rotten… everyone told me you weren't worth it. I should have listened to them. It won't work, Draco. You won't get me to feel sorry for you. I trusted you once. I won't make that mistake a second time."

It took a while for Draco to understand the words, but he realized his benefactor was there. This wasn't a dream.

"No, wait," he said, trying to catch the man's hand. "Please I know you have no reason to trust me. You think I betrayed your trust, but that list… I made it before our agreement. I swear it. I wanted nothing more than to know who you were. But not at the expense of losing you. I couldn't bear it."

"Why should I believe a word you say, Malfoy?"

The tone of voice made his host's identity all too clear now, even if he hadn't guessed before, but Draco ignored that for more important things. "Did I look for a way to use it against you? Did I call you Potter again? Never. I wanted you here. To talk to. To get to know you. As much as you'd let me. Regardless. I don't care if you're Longbottom or Weasley… or someone I don't know. I just…" Draco felt the panic rising in his chest, filling his throat. "I just wanted to become… friends."

"We were never friends." His benefactor paused, realizing what he'd said. "Look, I can't trust you. You've proven that. This doesn't exactly help matters."

Draco frowned. "What doesn't?"

"Acting like I've murdered you or deserted you or something equally maudlin."

Draco's anger choked him at the words. "How can you… have you ever been left alone? Completely? No one to talk to for months on end? How the fucking hell would you know how bad it feels? You have no right to judge my feelings!" Draco struggled to get out of bed, only to find it had been too long, and his legs weren't ready to let him stand. "Fuck… get out. You don't want to know me, then don't. But don't you fucking judge me, P…" He realized what he was about to say, and stopped abruptly, closing his eyes. "Get out. Whoever you are."

His host was silent for too long after, and Draco was about to shout at him again when he finally spoke. "No. Never completely alone. Though I felt like it sometimes. Is it truly so bad?"

Draco glared at him. "Why don't you try it and find out?" Rather than give him a chance to respond, Draco tried to rise again, much slower than before, and was grateful when he was able to stand, even if his legs felt slightly wobbly. 

He left the room without another word, going to the bathroom and going downstairs to get some toast. When he returned, his host was gone again. He hadn't actually expected him to stay. Though he'd secretly wished he would.

Though he struggled to return to his dreams, he found it hard to sleep in the days that followed. Perhaps he'd slept too much. Instead, he began exercising and organizing the house, moving the books from shelf to shelf, rearranging them in alphabetical order, then again by size. 

Time crept along.

Until the day the house elf didn't come with the food. Harry did. Not his host, a shadow with no face or distinguishing features, but a Harry, who looked distinctly rumpled with dark circles under his eyes.

Draco stopped in the doorway, unable to decide if he was imagining him or not.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled.

"What?" The word made no sense. At least not at first. Until he remembered his conversation with his host. Yes, he'd suspected he was Harry. That didn't make it true. This did.

"I meant…"

"Never mind," Draco scowled. He didn't want pity. "What do you want? Beyond absolution, that is, because I can't say I'm feeling up to offering it right now."

Harry met his eyes. "I've always been on my own. I never thought about what it would be like to be completely alone. I should have worked out something, Draco. I realize it's too late for a simple apology, but I'm here to give it a shot."

"Oh? You're going to 'make it all better,' like it never happened? Well, life doesn't work that way, Potter. I'm afraid you'll have to do better." 

"I plan to," he said, and Draco was surprised there was no trace of anger in his voice.

"Do you?" he asked, surprised now. "How?" Obviously showing his face was a start, but if he had more in mind… maybe this might all work out okay?

Harry nodded. "We could start with dinner tonight. You could tell me what worked. Before. And we could come up with a list of people who might be allowed to visit you. If you wanted?"

The shift in mood was enough to unsettle Draco's emotions, so he nodded, no longer able to meet Harry's eyes.

"And…" He felt Harry move closer. "I also considered what you said. About becoming friends?"

Draco looked up, surprised, and saw Harry was holding out his hand. Draco's world was suddenly spun around on its axis, and everything he'd known before stepping into this room today was turned on its head. 

He regarded Harry's hand for a long time before taking it, squeezing it in his own. "I'd like that."

It wasn't a lot, but it was a beginning.

_Fin_

When Draco was finished, he was shocked Potter hadn't stopped him long ago. The silence stretched out between them for several minutes before Potter finally spoke.

"I'm… not sure how to take that, Malfoy. I thought you hated me?"

Draco felt his cheeks heat. "I was a right prat, wasn't I? I just used us, because… well, it's easier." Not that it hadn't meant anything, but he could hardly say so to Potter's face.

"So you don't… I mean you wouldn't?"

"I'm locked in here, and bored. That's all, Potter. Okay? I'm not going to try to steal you from Weasley's sister, if that's what you're worried about."

"No. I… I mean… Ginny and I… we're not. She's back at Hogwarts, and, well, I told her she should see others. It wasn't fair to her after everything else."

"Why are you telling me, Potter? It's no business of mine." Not that Draco didn't want to know, but he was startled Potter would share something like that with him.

"Uh… never mind." Potter's face was a little red now, and Draco couldn't help wondering why.

When Potter didn't speak again, Draco held out his tray to him. "So do I get my question?"

"Oh. Yeah." Potter looked like he'd forgotten. He took the tray and nodded. "Of course."

"Have you talked to her? My mother, I mean."

Potter nodded. "She's settling in all right. I can pass on word to her you're doing okay, if you'd like?"

"Please. Let her know I'm thinking of her?"

Potter frowned. "I can't pass on any substantive messages, Draco. I could get into real trouble if I did."

"Fine. Just… well, whatever you're comfortable with."

"I will," Potter said, appearing suddenly more guilty. "I wish I could bring her here to see you."

"Don't. I mean, I know you can't. Don't make yourself feel guilty about it. It isn't your fault I'm here," Draco told him, voice soft.

"I wish it didn't have to be like this, Draco. Maybe… if things were different…"

"You'd be dead?" Draco suggested. "You know father would have handed you over to the Dark Lord, Harry. If I'd had any more access to you, he'd have made sure of it."

"I guess," Potter said softly. He sighed. "I'll see you soon, Malfoy."

Draco nodded. "I'll be here." After all, it wasn't like he was going anywhere soon.


	3. Another Story - One Summer Day Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco starts a new story about memory and friendship.

_Another Story_

Days passed a little faster after that. Things began to settle into a rhythm, and Draco found himself looking forward to Potter's visits.

Potter seemed to be enjoying them, too. For the third story, he seemed to appear earlier than he had the previous visit. "Here's your supper, Malfoy."

Draco glanced up from the parchment he was writing on. "Thanks. You've already gone round?" he asked, surprised.

"Yeah. So… did you have a story?"

Draco smiled. "I do. I even managed to get some parchment and a quill from one of the other guards, so I didn't forget the idea I came up with." He waved a stack of paper at Potter.

"Wow. You wrote it all down?"

Draco nodded. "Well… I'm starting to. I wrote down ideas for more, but I wanted to make sure I got what I already told you written down, too. Something to think about when I'm bored, or can't sleep. Helps."

Potter smiled. "I'm glad it is."

"Me, too." He hadn't expected this to be something so helpful. He'd just wanted information. Somehow, this had become a nice distraction. "So… ready for another story?"

Potter nodded, smiling. "Yeah."

"Well, this one, you gave me the idea last time. I mean, what if we'd met earlier, you know?"

Potter nodded. "So many things might have changed," he said.

"But this one… well, you'll see."

**_One Summer Day_ **

Draco watched as Harry looked down the hall for the third time in the past hour. "I'm sorry if I'm boring you, Potter."

"Shut up, Malfoy." He shot the other young man a glower, then glanced down the hall again.

"Are you looking for your replacement? You only just got here, you know."

Potter glared at him once more. "I told you to shut your mouth, Malfoy. It so happens I have other things to concern myself with than you. Now be quiet, or I'll make sure you stay that way regardless."

"Oooh, threats from the Hero of the Wizarding World. Here I thought you could sink no lower. Was the rumor I heard true? Did you formally break up with the Weaslette?"

Potter reached through the bars, pointing his wand at Draco. "If you say one more word, Malfoy…"

"What? You'll hex me? And spoil any chance of being an Auror?"

Narrowing his eyes, Potter glowered at him for another long minute, and for a moment, Draco wondered if he'd actually pushed too hard. Potter stepped back and leant against the wall. 

"Not that it's any of your business, Malfoy, but we were already broken up."

"Oh. So she decided she didn't want you any more?"

"You trying to get me to hurt you, Malfoy? Because it's not going to work."

Draco wasn't sure he believed him, but the threat wasn't going to stop him. It was the only entertainment left, and he wasn't about to give that up until it was taken from him. "No? You think not?"

Potter snorted. "No. Lifetime of dealing with goading. You're nowhere near as good as my cousin Dudley was."

Why did the name sound familiar? Had Potter mentioned him before? "Who?"

"My cousin. A great fat lump good for nothing but being a roast pig at someone's feast. Why? Going to find a way to taunt me about him, too? Won't work."

Taunting was the last thing on Draco's mind. He couldn't shake the feeling the name was familiar. "You… talk about him a lot, Potter?" Maybe he'd read the name somewhere.

Potter snorted. "Why on earth would I? Can't stand the prat. Always bullying me, pushing me around. One of the best things to happen this year was getting away from the Dursleys."

Draco blinked. Now he knew the name was familiar. To the point where the hidden memory was making his head spin. He'd experienced this once before—when he'd discovered Lucius's magic hiding a memory of kissing another boy at a gathering shortly before his third year at Hogwarts. So what was he was remembering? Why would he have a memory of Potter's cousin?

Potter's words rang in his ears until Draco was sure they would drive him mad; suddenly an image formed in his memory. Two boys, one twice the girth and several inches taller than the other. The larger shoved the smaller boy to the ground. "You have to wait here, Potter. You aren't allowed on the beach. Mum said so."

Draco shook his head, eyes widening as the full memory emerged.

_Thirteen Years Before_

Draco was playing in the treehouse in the rented cottage. Mother was upset they were renting, but father had insisted. That probably meant his usual way of buying temporary vacation homes hadn't worked. Draco wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but he'd heard uncle Sev accuse father of using his magic, and he'd been angry, so it must have been bad. 

So now mother and father were pointedly avoiding one another, and Draco decided it would be more fun to be out here where neither could decide he'd done something wrong.

He heard the two boys talking, and come down to see. When he'd seen the bigger boy hit the smaller one, he'd scowled. "Why isn't he allowed on the beach?" he asked, stepping out of the shadow of the tree.

The two boys looked at him with shockingly similar expressions, but neither spoke, so Draco tried again. "Is he sick?"

The larger of the two narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "He's a _freak_. Both mum and dad say so. Freaks aren't allowed on the beach."

Draco was quite certain this boy was exactly what father always talked about when he talked about Muggles. So that must mean the other boy must be magic, right? He advanced on the larger one. "You take that back."

The boy seemed startled Draco wasn't scared of him. "What? No! I won't! Mum and dad say it's so!"

Eyes narrowing, Draco felt his anger pulling at what his father had told him was his magic. "Take it back _now_ , you Muggle!"

The smaller boy appeared next to them. "Dudley…"

Apparently, it was the wrong thing for him to have done. The larger boy, deciding Draco was too much of a threat, seized on his companion to bully once more, and pushed him. Hard. The smaller boy fell to the ground, his glasses falling from his face and sliding across the pavement.

That was all it took for Draco to unleash his magic. He couldn't control it, but he'd learned over the past few years, when he was really angry, his magic usually caused _something_ to happen. What he wasn't expecting was for the large boy to vanish with a pop the way adults did when they apparated. 

He blinked at the spot where the boy had been standing for a moment, glancing worriedly at the smaller boy, who was staring at him, round-eyed. "What… what did you _do_?" he asked, horrified.

"I… don't know. I'm sure he's fine. Are you okay?"

The boy stood, reaching for his glasses and adjusting them on his face before peering at Draco. Draco realized they were about the same age. He dusted himself off, then nodded, meeting Draco's eyes with the brightest green eyes Draco had ever seen. "I guess. You shouldn't have done that. What if he doesn't come back? What will I tell my aunt?"

"That useless lump is your cousin?" Draco asked, appalled. He'd never have guessed. The two were so different. Was this boy a Muggle, too?

He nodded. "Yeah. His parents are my guardians." His voice suggested he wasn't too pleased by it.

"Why? Where are your parents? Are they on a trip?"

The boy shook his head, looking down. "They died." 

"Oh." Draco wasn't sure what to say. He'd never met anyone who didn't have parents before. He thought for a moment, then stepped closer. "Does he always treat you like that?"

The boy frowned, nodding. "Yeah. They all think I'm a freak," he muttered.

Muggle or not, those people were hurting this boy, and he wasn't going to allow it. "Want to stay with me?" 

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean, come live with us. We won't call you a freak, I promise." He held out his hand. "My name's Draco. What's yours?"

"H-Harry." He looked down at Draco's hand, then up at him, and Draco began to wonder if he would shake it. Finally, he reached out and clasped it. "Why are you being so nice to me?" he asked, amazed. 

Draco smiled. "Because. I think you're like me," he said.

Slowly, Harry returned the smile. "Yeah? So that's why you want me to stay?"

Draco nodded. "Father doesn't like me to play with other boys most of the time. Only the sons of his friends." He made a face. " I don't like them very much." He tilted his head. "You seem much nicer. And more fun." He tugged on Harry's hand and pulled him into the yard.

Harry's eyes grew round at the sight of their rented house. "Wow… Aunt Petunia would be so jealous."

Draco smirked. That only proved they didn't deserve Harry, he decided. If they couldn't give Harry this, Draco would. He'd show him he did have magic. Because Draco was certain he did. He wasn't sure why. He somehow knew he was right. "Isn't it nice? It's not as nice as the last beach house we had in the Canary Islands, but I like it. The one in the Canaries didn't have that." He pointed to the treehouse, grinning as Harry stared up at it.

"You have a treehouse?" He grinned at Draco. "Can we go up there?"

"Of course." 

Draco led the way up into the treehouse, and began to show Harry everything he'd already discovered—the telescope you could use to watch the beach and the sea, and the trap door up to the turret where they could practically see the end of the world, and the little cubby hole with books to read.

The two boys played in the treehouse until Draco's father came out to call him in for supper. 

"Draco, come down here."

"Yes, father," Draco called out the window. "Come on, Harry." Never did he consider his father how his father might react to his new playmate.

"Draco, who is this… urchin?"

"He's not an urchin, father. He's my friend. I helped him with his cousin, who called him a freak…"

Lucius pulled his son away from the other boy. "Go into the house, Draco. I'll deal with you later."

"What? No, father…"

"Draco, _now_!"

Draco realized nothing he could say would help. He took a last look at Harry, trying to apologize to the other boy without words. Harry seemed resigned, and nodded, and Draco turned and went into the house.

The next morning, he woke up in his own bed. He had no memory of the other boy or even their visit to the beach that summer.

 _Present Day_

The rush of memory left Draco dizzy, but when it passed, he remembered every moment of that afternoon. How well they'd gotten on. How different it had been from their years in Hogwarts together.

Harry was peering at him through the bars. "You okay, Malfoy? You're a bit pale."

Draco looked up at him, and now that he remembered, everything felt different. He stood and moved to the bars, causing Harry to pull away. "What are you up to, Malfoy?"

The use of his surname felt like a slap. Did Harry not remember? "Potter… did you ever spend time at the beach as a boy?"

Harry scowled. "Like they'd ever waste that kind of money on me. They always left me with someone when they went on holiday. Why do you care? Trying to find more to taunt me with?"

Draco shook his head. "No. It's just… I remembered something."

"Yeah? Like where you put your conscience?" Harry asked with a snort.

Biting back his annoyance, Draco shook his head again. "No. Meeting a boy in Brighton when I was young. We spent the afternoon together. He was the first friend I ever met father had nothing to do with." He watched Harry's face as he spoke, but there was no spark of memory there.

"So…? Why does that matter, Malfoy?"

"You don't remember?" It was worse than being called Malfoy. 

"Remember what, Malfoy? Are you saying you met me? Trust me, I'd remember meeting a prat like you."

Huffing, Draco turned away. "Either you're lying…" Or he'd been given a memory charm as well. If Lucius thought him a Muggle boy, that was likely exactly what he had done. 

After a moment, Harry spoke. "Or what, Malfoy?"

Draco turned to him. "You don't remember anything? Not even being in Brighton once?"

Harry frowned at him for a long time, and Draco could tell he was trying hard to remember. "Well, there was a visit to Brighton once. But I spent almost all of that holiday in my room. My aunt said I'd pushed Dudley into the water… or something." He winced and put a hand to his temple.

"Headache?" Draco asked, taking a cautious step closer.

"Never mind. It doesn't matter, Malfoy. You're just…" He met Draco's eyes. "What are you doing? What do you expect to get out of this little story, anyway?" 

"Nothing," Draco said. "It just happened. I wish you could remember."

Harry scowled at him. "Whatever kind of trick this is, it won't work." He turned away and moved once more to the spot on the far wall where he could see down the hall, but also into Draco's cell.

"Believe what you will, Potter," Draco said with a sigh. "You always do."

"What is that supposed to mean, Malfoy?"

Annoyed, Draco turned away. "You've always believed the worst of me."

"That's because you've always _shown_ me your worst, Malfoy! Am I supposed to expect something I've never seen?"

"You have seen something else. Once." But he supposed once wouldn't be enough to save him. "Never mind, Potter."

The two were quiet after that, but every time Draco glanced at Harry, he could see him rubbing at his head. He kept quiet, though. Even if Harry had taken advice from him, others would convince him he'd only done it to help himself in the long run. It wasn't worth it. Getting the headache to go away wouldn't make Harry's memories of their day together to come back. For that, he'd have to actually believe them, and there was no reason for him to.

Draco wished that remembering alone didn't hurt so much.

By the time Harry's replacement came, Draco was certain he'd never get another chance. "Harry, wait…"

Harry and the new guard looked at him, surprised. Harry scowled. "What do you want now, Malfoy? Whatever it is, forget it. I'm going home, and I'm going to take whatever it takes to get rid of this headache, and then I'm going to bed. Hopefully, if it's a good night I won't think about you at all."

"Please, just one thing. Research memory charms? Or better still, have Granger look for you. Find out the possible side-effects. If you don't see anything that makes you wonder, I won't bother you again. All right?"

Why it was so important to him Harry remember their day together, Draco couldn't have said, but he felt desperate for him to know he hadn't always been the boy Harry remembered from school.

Harry looked at him for another minute, then nodded once, wincing again. "Fine. I'll ask Hermione to research it. That doesn't mean I believe you, Malfoy."

"No… of course not." But it was a start.

After Harry left, Draco curled up on his bunk, lost in thought until he fell into a doze.

_The Next Day_

When Harry returned the next day, Draco had nearly given up hope he'd managed to get through to him. When he saw Granger with him, a thread of hope flared in him. At least, until Harry spoke

"What did you do to me, Malfoy?" 

Draco blinked. "Do?"

"You used a memory spell on me. You as much as admitted it!"

"I didn't! My father…" He sighed, glancing at Granger. "I take it you found the spell he used?"

"I found a description of a memory spell causing headaches when the memory comes to the surface," she admitted grudgingly.

"So tell me. When did you cast it? While I was rescuing you from the Fiendfyre? At the Manor? When?" Harry was glowering at him.

It didn't make Draco want to answer. "Why don't you access the memory and find out, hm? Because it's a spell that needs to be done as close to the original moment as possible, or it doesn't work too well." He raised an eyebrow at Granger. "Right, Granger?"

She glanced at Harry. "It's true. The book mentions the failure rate increases rapidly the further from the moment of memory the person is trying to cover."

Harry looked between them. "And? That means it can't work?"

"No, but it means the longer after the memory, the more likely the spell will fail, Harry," she told him.

The thought worried Draco. That meant Lucius cast the spell on him after Harry, if the spell on Harry was still so strong. "Are you still in contact with your family, Potter?"

Harry gave him a glower that said volumes about what he thought of that question. "Why would I, Malfoy? They treated me worse than you treated your house elves!"

"I was wondering if any of them remembered that holiday, that's all."

Frowning, Harry glanced at Hermione. "I… don't know."

"It might help us find out what's going on, Harry. I could contact them, if you'd like?"

"No. I wouldn't wish them on Malfoy, let alone you. I'll… go talk to them." He met Draco's eyes. "This doesn't mean I believe you, Malfoy."

"Of course not," Draco sneered. "Because you'd have to admit I might actually be something other than evil, and that is something you'd never be able to do."

"Oh, shut up, Malfoy."

"There's an original comeback." Draco turned away and settled on his bunk once more, watching the two friends as they talked softly. He caught a few words, particularly the Weasel's name, but held his tongue. After all, getting Harry angry about his best friend wasn't likely to get Draco on his good side now.

Still, whether or not Harry went to talk to his family, Draco knew nothing would change unless Harry himself remembered. So he'd have to find a way to break through the spell, despite the headache he knew it was likely to cause him.

He waited until Granger left before speaking. "How's the head?"

Harry looked up, surprised. "What do you care?"

"Well if I'm telling you the truth, it could mean everything. So I'm curious."

"It's fine. If you don't mind, I'd rather not banter with you today. I'm not exactly in the mood."

"No sleep?"

"Like you care, Malfoy," Harry said, settling against the wall. Draco knew it had to be uncomfortable, but guards weren't exactly supposed to be comfortable, they were supposed to be alert.

"I saw how bad the headache was yesterday. Had one of my own. It's enough to make me wonder. Maybe you should have made excuses and stayed home?" 

"What, so you can escape by tricking someone who doesn't know you the way that I do?"

"Please, Potter. You're not even an Auror. Don't you think you're being a touch full of yourself there?"

"They don't know you like I do, Malfoy. I'd say that gives me an advantage."

"Right," Draco drawled. "What can you do to stop me they can't?"

Harry glared at him. "Shut up, Malfoy. I told you, I'm not interested in bantering with you today."

Draco sighed. If he were honest with himself, he wasn't sure why he was bothering. After all, even if Harry did remember, what would it change? Perhaps Harry was right, and he should just forget it.

For lack of anything else to do, he stretched out on his side, turning his back to Harry, and dozed off.

_Memories_

When Harry returned the next morning, he was more subdued. He wasn't alone, either. The provisional Minister was with him.

"Are you certain this is wise, Harry?" the man asked. His voice was so calm, Draco wasn't able to read much from it, only his concern for Harry. 

"What? What's wise?" he asked, standing.

The Minister frowned at him. "Mister Potter has asked to speak with you privately in one of the interview rooms."

Draco blinked at him for a moment, then turned to Harry. "Why?"

"Don't ask questions, Malfoy." Harry didn't even bother looking at him, but kept his gaze on Shacklebolt. "I'm sure, Kingsley. I can handle him."

Draco held his tongue. If this was about that day… well, he wasn't going to jinx it.

"All right, Harry. I'll be right outside. He might not be his father, but he is still a high profile prisoner. If something were to happen…"

"It won't Kingsley. I promise."

Shacklebolt nodded and pulled out a set of keys to unlock the cell. "Two steps away from the door, Malfoy," he said in the same calm voice.

Draco bristled. It wasn't as though he'd gotten anywhere near the bars, after all. Then he remembered that Harry had actually requested this, and knew cooperation would make Harry more likely to talk with him, and took another step back.

Shacklebolt opened the door, whispered a binding spell, and Draco winced as he found his hands tugged behind his back and bound there. "I wasn't trying to do anything," he grumbled.

"It's the rules, Malfoy. Any prisoner out of their cell or in court is required to have shackles. Be glad I only bound your wrists."

They moved out of Draco's cell, Harry leading the way down the hall and past other cells, though Draco avoided glancing into them. He didn't want to know if the other prisoners might be watching them as they passed. He knew most of them would be friends or acquaintances, or worse still, family. Aside from his parents, he wasn't sure who had survived. Nor had he been willing to ask any of his guards.

When he'd arrived, he'd been taken to one of the interrogation chambers, but after only a few questions, they decided he knew very little, so he'd spent the rest of his time in a cell, waiting his turn to be told he would spend the rest of his life in Azkaban.

He was scared to ask where his parents were. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Harry led the way to one of the interrogation chambers, and Draco tried to remind himself this wasn't going to be like before, with Aurors badgering him about every little thing he might have done. This would just be Harry and him talking. Hopefully about that day.

Shacklebolt entered the room with them, activating the recording and protection spells in the room before removing Draco's bonds. "Remember, I'll be right outside, Harry. If you need anything…"

"I'll let you know." He was watching Draco now, which made him nervous. He covered his reaction by settling at the table in the centre of the room. The chair wasn't comfortable, but at least it wasn't his bunk. He tried to be grateful for the change of scenery. Even if it was just more grey walls.

After Shacklebolt left, Harry stared at Draco for a long time, and Draco's skin itched from restraining himself. He was about to explode when Harry finally spoke. "I went to see my aunt last night. She told me the reason I stayed in my room in Brighton was because I'd pushed Dudley into the ocean."

Draco blinked at him for a moment, unable to understand, his eyes widening when he realized how Dudley ended up in the water. "I sent him into the ocean?" 

Harry frowned. "You sent him into the ocean?" he echoed. He moved to sit across from Draco. "I wondered if it was just some excuse. Because I didn't even remember leaving the cottage they rented." He tilted his head. "You really did that?" Draco nodded. "Why?"

"He was being a bully. Father always told me that was how Muggles treated us. So I assumed you were like me. I had to stop him."

"But you couldn't have been more than what, five?"

"So?" Draco answered. "I didn't know what the magic would do, but I knew if he got me angry enough, it would do _something_. He did. And it did."

"Your magic dumped him in the water. Because you were protecting _me_?"

Draco nodded again. "Because I thought you were like me. And… well, I was right, wasn't I?"

Harry looked at him for a long time before he responded. "I… still don't remember."

"I could try to help…"

"Yeah, but you telling me isn't the same as remembering, Malfoy."

"No, it's not. That's not what I meant. Sometimes… contact with someone who experienced the same moment can help break the spell." He held out his hand, meeting Harry's eyes.

Harry glanced down at his hand. "What?"

"I can't hurt you here. The spells in the room prevent it. What have you got to lose? If I'm lying, what's the worst that will happen? Nothing. To you."

"This will stop the headache?"

"The headache is only a side-effect of the spell, Potter. Once it's broken, it won't be able to have any effect on you any longer."

After another moment of hesitation, Harry nodded. "All right. What can it hurt, right?" 

He reached out, his fingers brushing Draco's hand, then curling around it. Before either of them could say more, Draco felt a shock of magic between their palms, and felt the room brighten for a moment. The rush of memory followed immediately after, and he had to close his eyes to block out the present to keep from being overwhelmed.

_* * *_

"Damn," Potter said, interrupting Draco. "What happened?"

"Well if you stop interrupting, I can tell you…"

Before Draco could continue, Potter shook his head. "I can't, Malfoy. I need to do another round before my replacement gets here. Next time?" 

Draco nodded. He didn't want Potter getting in trouble. That would only mean he couldn't come watch him any longer, after all. "Okay. See you soon, then?"

"Definitely," Potter said with a smile. He took Draco's tray, and hurried off to retrieve the others.


End file.
